Monday, May 30, 2011

Non Pacificum

Coming to terms with war, memorial day, & freedom

Non Pacificum
To my grandfathers:

Splashing shoreward on a tropical beach
the green Pacific reflecting blue sky
tall bay trees and palms up toward heaven reach
all lost on the men who came here to die.

The bullets hit before their sound can come.
The mortars raise shrapnel, smoke and dirt.
The weight of the pack, wet boots and the gun
cannot slow them down, or else they'll get hurt.

Cheverolet, and Mom and good apple pie
are the furthest things from these soldiers' thoughts
which are slog and shoot and duck and don't die
and fire and cover and keep what we've bought.

So we should keep it, for it was bought dear.
We would be cowards to sell it for fear.

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